Rolling with it

There is a lot to roll with these days. Panic fills the air as the smoke rises. 911 operators in neighboring counties throughout the state are inundated with midnight calls about the smell of smoke; fire departments are closing rank to protect their own backyards; rumors are flying; tourists are canceling their summer visits to our great state and the governor is attempting to calm the anxiety. Colorado is on fire and not in a good way.

Yes, it is re-traumatizing to those of us who have lost homes and loved ones. Yes, we wince at the latest headlines and cry at yet another tale of woe. Yes, we wonder if it could happen again to us in our rental homes or trailers. Yes, we gather together and look knowingly into each others eyes. Yes, we wish there was more we could do for all those who suffer as we struggle to keep our own heads above water. Yes, we lose sleep and question just what is happening out there in this crazy world. It is rampant. It is impacting thousands of people everywhere. It seems almost everyone knows someone who has lost a home or is evacuated. And, there seems to be no end in site. The weather continues to not cooperate, the soil is drying up, the grass withering. Storms roll through and flash their lightning strikes starting even more fires and leaving no measurable moisture.

I am back at Jessica’s after calling “uncle” on trailer living. The heat was too much for me, but I would have persevered. When my dogs began freaking, that was my breaking point. I cannot have my animals suffer. Not at all. Roscoe is staying at Jessie’s with her brood and Tigger is back with me. We are working on “Plan C, version 287.65” on where to live for the next month. Cool basements are being offered. Most likely we will spread our time between Jessie’s and Jessica’s. We just have to make it through July and then we will flee the state for the comfort of Florida, then the Bahamas. How can it be that Florida is having cooler weather than we are? Of course there is that most recent tropical storm but I am sure anyone in Colorado would trade the fires for a hurricane right about now.

I will go about my day as much as possible and attempt not to glance to the north or south. Driving up the mountain last night provided a terrifying view of both the Flagstaff fire and the Waldo Canyon fire. Eery, spooky, terrible, terrifying. Lives being disrupted, turned upside down. Living with the unknown - and then the devastation of the known. If you live anywhere near the mountains or foothills right now and you don’t have your possessions inventoried and videod, insurance up to date, evacuation list prepared and an ‘essential items’ bag packed, you are just plain crazy. This is the summer to be on alert.

So how do we live without living in fear? This is the question of the age. For those extra sensitive types, we need to find outlets and distractions from the angst. This morning, I spent time with Jessica’s angel girls. Pretending to bite off their noses, serving up their breakfast cereal, letting them feed Tigger, watching them strut around the house in their princess finery. The giggles, the hugs, the love, I soak it up. Buzzing energy fields of curiosity as well as tempestuous little goddesses in their own rights. I let them wash my mind of worry. I let myself be in the moment with them before they leave for their day of adventure. I absorb their goodness and their spunk. Now, in this quiet house that feels palatial after my trailer, I breathe deeply and read some headlines - steering clear of the pictures as those are already etched in my brain.

We went first this year. Going first is probably easier than going last. We got it over with by burning down already. We don’t have to worry about that anymore (well, as previously stated, it does come up as a vague worry... could we burn again? Is there enough fuel on the ground? Would “lightening” strike in the same place twice? Is the universe that cruel? Is someone up there making these choices for our fate? and on and on...) But really, most likely it won’t happen again. So instead of living in concern, we live on this side of things. First in a line of rocked lives. We wish no one had to feel this pain. We wish the state wasn’t on fire. We wish for the rain gods to smile upon us. Three months ago yesterday we were where so many are right now. So many thousands more. At the beginning, in the not knowing, in the early stages of panic, or in full-blown panic attacks. Life changed in an instant but it took a few more instants for this new version of our lives to be known.

The High Park people have been dealing with this awful reality for 18 days. That’s a long damn time to be in upheaval. And, no end is in site for dousing that fire. The Waldo Canyon fire is exploding, doubling in size over night, and the governor is saying, “we have never seen a fire like this in the history of Colorado”. I read headlines and I breathe. I turn back to my writing, my outlet, my sanity. I hope all those who suffer will be as lucky as we are with the support we have received and continue to receive. I hope all who wish to support those people will remember that this is only the beginning. This is the long haul. This will not be over even when the flames have finally breathed their last fierce breathe. This will not be over in a month or three months or six months or even a year. This will not be over when the victims smile for the first time, or say they are ok, or move to another home or another state. This will take a while. Possibly a long long long while. Please be patient with your people. Please give them the space to be however and wherever they need to be. Please know that just because we may look “good” on the outside, our insides are still crying out on layers we may not even realize. And, please read my blog from June 12th where I give suggestions for dealing with fire victims as we walk through fire.

We may be moving on. We may be rolling with it. But it is not a straight line, a neat progression or a stage to move through and check off a list. It is messy, ugly, scary and monumental. It has it’s beautiful moments where the world stops and we meet another human’s kind heart. It is a roller coaster. We roll up high and we roll down low. We roll through ash and muck and tears and anger. We roll with the waves of the next fire or the steam from the last. We roll in our sleep and roll through the day sometimes not remembering a thing. We roll in pain and sometimes we roll in laughter.

And, for those of you who are in the line of fire, let yourself roll. Don’t get off the roller coater until you are ready. Ride the ride. Be gentle with yourself, as gentle as you can be when you feel like you are falling through the earth into nothingness.

Just roll with it all. We are rolling with you.

Why does the bird sing?

A bird does not sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song. Lou Holtz

I woke up worrying. Or did I start worrying once I woke up. In those early moments before getting out of bed and way before coffee, it’s hard to tell. What I can tell is how my 60 minutes of worrying between eye flutter and first sip of caffeine made me feel. Like poop.

To escape the blistering heat at our lovely trailer, we stayed the last two nights at the Highland Haven in downtown Evergreen. A lovely respite from reality, the Highland Haven is a high-end B&B built around an 1884 homestead. A small river runs along the property, towering spruce provide ample shade, the gardens are tended but not over manicured. Our room is lovely and dark and one might have thought I could have slept in - but oh no, I need to get up early enough to begin my worrying. Well-worn grooves of worry were my focus. Challenging relationships, the heat, fires burning across Colorado our future, where to do the laundry... It wasn’t until I walked back to my room with coffee in hand that it occurred to me that I might choose something else and start the day over. Some of us are slow learners.

Looking deeper, below the worry, I see fatigue. These small retreats keep us going but our souls need a little more time to mend. Two nights at an expensive (albeit lovely) hotel won’t fix me. Darn it! We did have a lovely dinner by the river having picked up take out Thai. And, we had some much needed together time, away from it all. Later today, I check in with my therapist, my first appointment in a couple weeks. I will lie on her couch and tell her my tales. She will remind me that it’s all ok, to be expected, and that I am actually doing quite well.

Writing seems stiff this morning. More proof of what I tell my clients: you can be tucked away in a mountain retreat, by a river, all alone - and still not be inspired to write. There is no perfect time to write. It takes dedication, saying no to some things to say yes to this, willingness to sit through the discomfort, the ability to watch words that bore you show up on the screen and keep typing anyway. Don’t edit as you write is a mantra - yet of course, us perfectionists, can’t stand that! I attempt to follow my advice and type away, knowing I can come back. I could add this to my worry list - maybe I am running out of steam with my writing. Maybe there isn’t anything left to say. But I don’t actually believe that. I think it’s just often the same themes emerge and I get tired of saying it, tired of feeling it - and concerned that you might be tired of reading it. And, I am going to write anyway. Write regardless. Write on. That’s what I tell my clients - and I am telling myself that too. Over and over again.

There are sweet spots in the day where I imagine writing emerging themes and insights and beauty. I want to share all of it with you but then the moment passes and I don’t remember. Last night had quite a few. A conversation with two dear friends as we do a Vision exercise that I give to all my clients. Part of an Abundance circle, we three are creating the next year of our lives. In a flash of inspiration, I sent the assignment with a rallying cry to complete it. I have done Vision exercises over the years, the first time being when I read Jack Canfield’s The Success Principles and let ‘er rip which (unbeknownst to me at the time) began my adventure in book writing. I know magic can come from the willingness to throw our hats over the fence and create dreams so big they scare us. And, I have done these assignments, creating castles in the sky and never quite following through. This time, it’s different. The usual instructions are to “dream big, think big, stretch, allow wild imagination”. Now, at the beginning of so much, I am allowing something (for lack of a better word) smaller. I am tired of pie in the sky lingo, I just want to be willing to dream of something. Like any good resister, I put off the assignment for two weeks and began working on it an hour before our call. Talk about putting rusty fingers to keyboard. The resistance was screaming in my ears. “That’s stupid, that’s a terrible, that’s boring, that’s unrealistic...” And, I kept the fingers moving anyway.

Something started to emerge. I wrote about the house that is taking shape, the lifestyle we are creating, how the fire brought us closer. Each sentence I wrote, I questioned. “Really? Do you want that really?” When the three of us came together, it turned out that we all had variations of the same theme. It is common lingo in the circles we travel to say, “when we declare something, what often shows up is not that.” Meaning, the challenges often rush to the surface to fill the space that is created in declaration.

With my powerful friends, I urged the permission for all of it. The glaring “not that” that has shown up, our mutual pissy-ness, dashed hopes and dreams, financial concerns (real and imagined), relationship challenges, and more. And, without having exact words for it, I urged us to do it differently. All of us have created before. What will make this one different I queried? We are all around the same age, have done a lot and seen a lot. We have transformation up the ying yang, we are self-aware and moderately successful in our fields. What will make it different this time?

I have been in this conversation a lot lately. I was on an inspired fast-track with my business last year, movin’ and groovin’, launching programs and products and astounding myself. And, I ended the year bone tired, realizing that even though I adore my work, I was still trying to prove myself. The old “when I get there, I will be ok” bullshit. Yes, I wrote a whole book about this, and YES I was still doing this to myself.

I want for these women like I want for myself. And, what I really want for all of us is to find peace. Peace within our hearts as a starting place. Then we can choose our dreams from there. So quickly my lofty goals turn to a proving ground for my worth. So quickly my admiration for another turns to what they have that I don’t. So quickly my success turns to not enough. So quickly inspiration turns to driveness.

Yes, we all have this and do this. Now, much of my motivation and push has burned away with the fire along with stacks of books telling me how to be better, stronger, faster; binders full of notes from my Masters degree, massage training, personal development work and all the business training I ever did; CD’s and workbooks of teachers offering their wisdom to entrepreneurs in the form of list building, business management, tele-seminar creation and more - all turned to ash. I implemented much of the training, yet many “to-do’s” continuously sounded their alarm from my shelves. “You are not doing enough” was their call. “You need to, you should, you have to, you must. Hurry up, don’t forget, don’t miss out. Don’t mess it up. You are missing opportunities. Now is the time. Hurry hurry hurry.” I hear their ghosts still singing to me. No, I say. I won’t listen. I won’t buy the garbage. And, I am certainly not saying it’s all garbage. I think you know what I mean.

It’s time to take it down to the bare bones. Just what is really going on here? How can so many of us go through life dissatisfied? We are smart, savvy, educated, talented, beautiful, yet it’s never ever enough. And, it never ever will be.

What I am asking now is:

What do I care about?
What do I really want?
How can I have goals, commit to move towards them yet not become over-identified with the outcome?
Can I let go of needing to prove something?
Can I really, truly be ok with who I am and where I am right now?
What if this is as good as it gets - can I be ok with that?

Do we judge the bird for not having answers? No, we let it sing its song. What does it try to tell us? Maybe nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe there is no message. Maybe it is merely singing.

A Touch of Grey

Fires are raging all over Colorado and the West. Smoke clouds fill the sky. With record breaking heat and winds blowing like stink, more and more people across Colorado are being evacuated from various fires and the High Park fire, still growing, is far from contained. Mother Nature is not cooperating one bit.

It might be easy to get discouraged about the state of the State, or the state of the world. It might be easy to slip into the darkness and the funk. Well, yes, I have to say, it is.

California was a lovely break from reality. I realize reality lives there too, but for me over the three days, reality was suspended. Someone cooked for me, I slept in a real bed, showered standing up, flushed the toilet at whim, hung my clothes in a spacious closet - and the best moments were wandering in and out of shops in the California breeze. The weather was perfect; the respite refreshing; the trip worth the trip.

Since arriving “home” the past few days have been a bit bumpy - and yes, I have had a relapse and am adding quotation marks again. Yesterday began well. I attended a 6:30am 12-step meeting. The crowd was small and we all had a chance to share. I acknowledged my fragile state of mind coupled with my desire to not be as ‘thrown’ by things as much as I have been. I have to admit, I have been gathering some compelling evidence for things not going exactly my way. Besides the obvious, not much has seemed to “flow”. Last week I drowned my Mac; the troubles continue on the trailer (leaking water pipes, leaking sewage, mouse infestation); then I left my new precious journal on the airplane. And much much more but right now it feels like blah blah blah to write it - and to say it.

Later in the day, my mettle was maxed as the temperature hit 90+ degrees in Conifer . And in Flame, well, let’s just say two words “convection oven”. And for some strange reason, we have more biting flies than ever before. These dive bombing buggers buzzed and bit mercilessly, leading to welts. Coupled with the oppressive heat my boys panted and paced the day away. The moment it cooled enough, we huddled inside until the wind picked up and they became convinced something lurked outside that was coming to kill us all. Soothing them with words of love and wisdom had no effect and even snuggling on my narrow bed didn’t cut it. Will these sweet dogs bounce back once they return to a ‘normal’ living environment? Have I taken years off their life? Have I taken years off my own?

To say the least, I have been questioning the wisdom of my push to live in a trailer. To say the most, I question my sanity. As these fires burn all around, we ‘homelosers’ (as we affectionately call our group) can’t help but be affected. It weighs on our hearts and in our minds. It reminds us of where we were, how far we have come and how much further there is to go. We send love and condolences to people all over the west who are dealing with fires - living in the unknown for extended periods of time; catching the first glimpse of the devastation of their dreams; the monumental loss and sadness buried beneath the layers of shock and disbelief. The early days of this adventure are a blur. Now in the “whatever these days should be called” stage, we are no longer numb. We are tired. We are fried, really.

With all the sadness floating through the air like soot, I grasp for the small miracles, such as the 7-year old in the airport singing proudly, “I am doing the happy dance, I am doing the happy dance.” A lovely moment for sure. Then quickly the question emerges of why we sensible adults don’t we do that. We all know that at some point in the not too distant future a “shush” from his parents (or some other authority figure or peer) will really shush him and he won’t sing aloud in public ever again, and maybe even in private either. But for this moment, I smile broadly at his parents in celebration and with the hope of encouraging their encouragement of his bold expression.

Last night before the wind kicked up, I soaked in the setting sun as it melted into scorched trees against bright green grass. Later, on 3am pee dash outside, I caught the moon - a sliver of what appeared to be burnt orange. I am looking. And, I am seeing. And, as I have said all along, this is a fine line. I simply will not force myself to be somewhere I am not in this process. And, a little looking for silver lining never hurt anyone.

Shortly, my women’s group will be here breakfast. I will ask them to remind me of what is beautiful as they oooh and ahhh over the loveliness of Flame before the heat takes over and cooks our brains. Sitting on my bed and writing, ipod playing, coffee at my side, blanket on my lap, I remember what I like about my cozy little trailer. In making my music choices this morning, my ipod stuck on “Touch of Grey” by the Grateful Dead playing it no less than 5 times in a row. I listened carefully each time, a sign sent from above.

Then I hear a whoosh of an email arriving and I read words from my dear neighbor saying the same things I was feeling. Happy to receive her words but not happy to hear that she is in pain, I write back sending love, understanding and gratitude. And, I may call her back and sing out-loud, in honor of that little boy at the airport.

Sorry that you feel that way, the only thing there is to say is...
Every silver lining's got a touch of grey.
We will get by, we will get by, we will get by, we will survive.

It's the little things. And, sometimes it's like herding cats

Like herding cats.  That’s what it feels like as I attempt to sort my thoughts today.  I was given a writing assignment which I gladly said yes to!  Then as I sit down at the keyboard, the anticipation builds...  What will I say?  What will be the words that I know will come as they reliably have for the past 58 blog entries.  And what happens?  Nothing.  Nada.  Niente.  Nilch.  And, more of that.

Then I can’t even switch gears and write my blog cause my head has suddenly become filled with crap.  I have to say, I awoke with some crap in my head.  Thank God, I talked with another “home-loser”, the lovely Sharon, and she and I laughed at the ‘murphy’s law’ that seems to be following us around.  Just as she was calling me, she opened the microwave in her rental and the glass plate randomly broke.  My tale?  I picked up my new dress from my trusted tailor to discover that absolutely none of what we talked about had been done.  A relatively simple project, or so it seemed, he was to move the ties around so the dress fit better.  What I ended up with was not that at all – and get this – one of the ties had been removed from the waist area and literally was re-attached to the bottom of the skirt hem, hanging down.  Seriously.  Ummmmm.  I can’t even begin to understand this logic.  In telling my beloved neighbor, she laughed harder than I have ever heard her laugh before which in turn made me laugh instead of continuing down the grumpy path where I was headed all morning.  Then, Sharon proclaimed, “it’s a tail”.  She must be right.  My leopard print dress required a tail.  No other explanation needed.  Hear that, Murphy?

My sleep has been off again, and my mind has been grasping things to obsess and worry about.  The dress was my top worry as I drifted off to sleep and then this morning at 5am I woke up thinking about it.  So much for not sweating the small stuff as my grand lesson after tragedy… Meeting yet another fire survivor this morning who lost his home in a fire 12 years ago, a knowing nod accompanied his kind demeanor as I told him some of our tales.  He understands.  We understand each other.  What normally would be an annoyance or inconvenience becomes monumental.  And, for some strange reason these “little” annoyances seem to be everywhere we look.  From my dress miss-hap (which was supposed to be one of my few “nice” outfits for my upcoming trip), to David’s lengthy drive to a RV supply store (where kindness and a helpful spirit were touted yet completely lacking), to the variety of septic “issues” we have had, these things add up in our already fatigued systems and we quickly dive into overload.  Or maybe we never leave overload and these things just further cement our spirals...  It’s debatable. 

It’s the little things that bring the shit storms, and the gifts.  Today, in discussing the fate of our scorched trees, we glanced up at two we were hoping to save but were making their way onto the “fell” list.  “What is that?” we wondered aloud.  “Is that what we think it is???”  It was.  A small patch of green pine needles way up high, almost beyond seeing.  Was it a tromp l’oeil or the small sign of hope?  Since we both saw it, and then the kind man who will fell the rest saw it, we believe it to be true.  And, we believe it to be new growth.  A few clumps of green amidst a sea of black and brown.  These two trees were our favorites besides our long lost pine that towered over our deck and provided much needed shade on our south facing lot.  Shade is a missing commodity these days and its absence is one of the drawbacks of rebuilding here.  We created shade by Flame in the form of an umbrella, and now a vintage style awning which keeps the sun off of her sides and a cool breeze passing through.  During the hot summer days of Colorado it would be intolerable to live here without some shade. 

Will our two trees come back fully?  We don’t know.  They officially have been given a stay of execution.  For now.   The nice young man who will be taking 20+ other trees knows what he is doing.  He was 15 when his family lost their home to the High Meadow fire.  Hired out to cut down neighbors’ trees during their recovery process after proving himself on his own land, he then formed a business appropriately called “Splintered Forest”.  At 27, he carries wisdom beyond his years.  He patiently followed me around as I became more and more willing to let more and more trees go.  They call them ‘widow makers’ after a fire.  You never know when one might drop either while you sleep or innocently pass by.  Of course, I ok’d the ones by Flame, but then expanded my consideration to those overhanging the driveway, the future home site, and David’s storage container “man cave”.  We will utilize all the remains by chipping for erosion prevention and chopping for firewood.  If they have any life left in them, these trees will not die in vain.

I feel relieved to put ourselves and our forest health in this young mans hands.  I am happy he really gets it.  We are gathering our team of those who live up here, have lost homes in the past or have some connection to our particular area.  This feels good.  We don’t get pat answers or our concerns swept under the carpet.  We also don’t have to explain too much. 

I asked this man what the biggest life lesson he received after his fire.  His reply, “It’s all just stuff.”  A good metaphor for life.  It’s all just stuff.  Sometimes I will interact with it like that – and other times I will attempt to organize the un-organizable, just like herding cats.

Last night I shared with my women’s group my realization that this time is precious.  It’s dirty, raw, ash-covered and tremendously challenging – and it’s also precious.  It will be like no other (hopefully).  Next year this time, we will be rejoining the majority of US citizens by living in a house, and life will be different.  We won’t have to say, “Excuse me” to pass by each other.  We will have a sink larger than a shoebox.  We will take showers standing up.  And, we will even have a washing machine so we don’t have to do the smell test and ponder – can I get away with one more day? 

My phone rings and it’s my neighbor Jeanie who talked to Sharon and heard about my dress dilemma.  Now living in Denver, Jeanie offers to drop my dress off for me to save me a trip.  Ahhhhh.  It’s the little things.  I discover a much easier way to do dishes in my shoebox sink.  Ahhhhh.  Another thing.  My phone rings again and it’s a man wanting the former owner of my number to paint his garage floor.  I kindly explain that he must have a wrong number.  He responds, “Well, do you want to paint my floor?”  We chuckle together and move on with our day.  Ahhhhh.  It really is the little things.    

I am part of a bigger whole.  I am not alone.  I have my peeps.  And, meet more along the way.  We understand each other as we walk through this fire called life and the resulting ups and downs.  We will stumble and fall along the way.  Then, we will look up for an instant, and perhaps catch a glance of green in a towering pine that once was grand and hopefully one day will be again.  

As another wildfire rages out of control - WE reach out to YOU

As another wildfire rages out of control near Fort Collins, my heart breaks for those who lost homes and particularly those who lost loved ones.  At 36,930 acres and zero percent containment, this fire is a nasty one.  An ‘act of God’ sparked this blaze in the form of a random lightning bolt.  Extreme dryness coupled with high winds is the perfect breeding ground for fire.  I didn’t sleep well, thoughts of these poor folks filling my mind, knowing some of what they are experiencing, only imagining more.  Tossing and turning throughout the night, I thought of what I want to say to them and those who love them.  I wish I could shield them from the inevitable roller coaster ride that results from life chewing us up and spitting us out.   Here is what I want to say:

To those affected by the High Park Fire – those who have lost loved ones, animals and homes, or still wonder what you lost as you attempt to gather the fragments of information that are beginning to surface – our thoughts are with you. 

There are no words that are adequate.  I am sorry.  It sucks.  It’s horrific.  It’s all of that and more.  You are in the midst of it – with this fire still raging out of control and no end in site.  Many of you don’t know the status of your homes, property or animals you either couldn’t return for or were forced to leave behind.  We feel your pain.  We know the anguish. We wince as we read the news, see the pictures and smell the smoke that drifts even as far south as we are.  We understand.  We were there – and now we are further down this life-altering path.  We aren’t far enough along to have forgotten anything – and truthfully – none of us will ever forget.  We will remember that day forever.  We will remember the sounds, smells and how it felt.  The moments of evacuation – or of being unable to return to collect any belongings – will be etched in our minds forever.  The terror, the bewilderment, the not knowing, then the knowing, we remember it all.  We wish you didn’t have to go through any of this. 

You have joined a club that you never wanted to join.  Your roller coaster ride has just begun – and won’t be over for a while.  We are still on ours.  After the smoke clears and the dust settles a bit, you will still be riding the ride.  You will be dealing with your insurance companies and learning details you never ever wanted to know.  You will be asked to walk from room to room in your mind to make lists of everything you ever owned.  You will be tired – and you will get more tired.  You will wonder if you can continue on.  You will question everything.  You will wonder why, is there a God, what did you do wrong, how could this happen?  You will not want to believe it.  You will begin the mourning process.  Hopefully, you will rally together as neighbors to support each other and realize you aren’t alone.  You will understand each other, as no one else really will.  You will embrace those who were strangers previously and they will become something deeper than friends.  You will be grateful to be alive but pissed beyond belief. 

I hope you can let yourself have all of it, be all of it, and experience all of it.  There is no “right” way to walk through this.  Some of you will pop up more quickly, returning to life and moving on in ways – yet never forgetting.  Others will take longer.  Some will choose to close a chapter of your life, move to the city, or somewhere else.  Others will have no idea what direction to go.  I hope you can let yourself have whatever reactions you have and feel whatever emotions you experience.  You may be terrified, angry, depressed, devastated, detached, or dejected.  You may be all of those things in a 15-minute period.  Some days you will see the light at the end of the tunnel, and others it will be black as night.  Let it be.  Let yourself be. 

The land will take a while to heal – can you let yourself take as long?

I speak to those whose hearts take longer to heal.  Let it take what it takes.  Don’t try to rush through it.  Don’t compare yourself to how someone else is doing.  Don’t judge or make yourself wrong for anything.  Surround yourself with people who will let you be however and whoever you need to be.  Don’t waste your time with those who don’t get it.  Life is too short for that. 

Some more suggestions:

1.     Don’t make any rash decisions – you will be raw for a while.  Save the major decisions for a little further down the path.  Give yourself a little time to breathe.

2.     Get support – both professional and personal.  Allow your community to support you.  Take advantage of resources that are offered.  Seek counseling.  There is nothing wrong with needing help.

3.     Make lists of everything.  Carry a notebook everywhere you go.  Write down thoughts you have, things to-do, anything that comes to mind.  Write down all the people who offer to assist.  Many people will offer many things in the beginning and you will NOT remember who said what.  You will continue to need things, support, time and maybe even money later on.  You probably won’t want a lot right away.  Don’t turn people away – write it down so you can revisit later.  Tell them you will get back to them at some point.  And then do that. 

4.     Pace yourself.  You will be quite tired in a way you have never experienced before.  There is nothing wrong with you – your system is in overload.  This is normal. 

5.     Try to sleep.  This is a tough one – but rest when you can. 

6.     Attempt to settle as soon as possible in a place where you can unwind.  If you are truly comfortable in a friend’s spare bedroom, this is fine but often no matter how lovely our friends are, eventually you will need your own space. 

7.     Find an outlet – whether it is exercise, going to movies, reading – or like for me – writing.  I started writing 6 days after our fire and haven’t stopped since.  Sixty-thousand words later, I still have more to say.  If this is your thing, let yourself do it.  Get the thoughts out there.  Share your pain.  I promise, it helps.

8.     Expect that people in their well-meaning ways will say a lot of tings that don’t seem so supportive.  Give this list to your friends if it helps.  Bring humor (when you are ready) to deal with the silly things that come out of people’s mouths.  Some of those will be:

a.     “Well at least you _______ (fill in the blank).”  At least you got out alive, at least you got your dogs, at least you have your health….  Just breathe when someone begins a sentence this way and move on.  You will hear it a lot.  It is annoying – and it will keep happening.   (I have blogged extensively on this one in particular so you can read more about that at www.walkingthroughfire.com Look at June 11th’s entry.

b.     “Well you had insurance, didn’t you?”  This question can leave you feeling that the asker has no concept of the magnanimity of what you are now dealing with.  And they don’t.  They can’t.  Unless someone has gone though this, they have no idea.  It’s not like a fender bender where you can put your house in the shop and come back to find it good as new. 

c.      “It must be so freeing to not have any stuff.” Or some variation of this…  I was told I would hear this – and I have, multiple times.  Often, it comes in the form of musings that seem to occur in front of you.  People are attempting to look for the silver lining.  Kindly ask them not to do that right now, for you.  You will find your own silver lining in your own damn time.  You do not need to be told.  And, no, it isn’t really that freeing.

d.     The question, “How are you?”  This is a tough one.  It’s what we humans ask each other all the time and most of the time, we don’t really mean it and certainly don’t want to know.  I have asked my people to skip this question entirely and get right to the point. 

The truth is people don’t know what to say, what to do, or how to help – and most people genuinely want to contribute something.  Mostly they mean all the above with kindness in their heart, it’s just that they can be clueless at times.  Have people with whom you can really unwind and let go.  Bitch about what you need to bitch about.  Vent when you need to.  Scream, yell and cry at whim. 

9.     Say YES to support. And, keep saying yes, over and over and over again.  You will need help.  You will want help, even if you don’t want it now.  Mostly, let people love you.  Let them contribute to you.  They really really want to. 

Just as those who walked through previous fires have been (and still are) there for us, we are here for you.  Reach out if you want, we will answer.  We want you to know that one day, you will smile again.  Just not right now. 

With love in my heart, tears in my eyes and sadness in my soul,

Kristen Moeller

waitingforjack@gmail.com

North Fork Fire, March 26^th 2012